Inseparable
by the-future-librarian
Summary: Moran meets Moriarty in a pub. It was fate. It was also a bad idea. How fem!Moran and fem!Moriarty meet and what followed. Eventually these two get together because I can't imagine a universe in which they don't..
1. Meet and Greet

AN: I own nothing. Any mistakes are my own, and if you notice any please let me know.

* * *

It was a bad idea from the start, but neither of them was exactly known for doing the right thing.

* * *

The pub was grimy, dark, and too full of people to be completely comfortable. But then again, she didn't really give a shit about comfortable. She'd been to Afghanistan and back. She'd seen the sand and the sun and the blood and the pain and the bodies. The only real surprise had been the sand, but well, the army didn't need to know that. Actually, it was probably best that no one found out about that. Not that she really cared. Prison couldn't be much worse than Afghanistan, could it?

The war was over for her anyway. Got shot one too many times. Shot the wrong person too many times. Dishonorable discharge, but she was never in it for the honor. Plus she learned enough to get a couple of jobs back home. Didn't know snipers got paid so well. If she had, she would have learned to shoot ages ago.

"'Ello, sweet'art. Wot's a bird like yew doin' in a place like this?"

She sighs. Not again.

"Not interested."

"Aw, come on! Yew 'aven't e'en looked up from yer pint yet! 'Ow yew know yew ain't intrestid?"

"Aside from your atrocious grammar, your insufferable stench assures me that anytime in your company would be less than pleasurable."

She kept her eyes firmly locked on the deep amber liquid in the glass she held in front of her.

"Wot was that?" he asked, and she didn't have to know what he looked like to picture the dull confusion on his face. She'd seen it often enough.

"You're a dick. Easy enough to understand now?" she replied setting her drink down heavily.

"'Ay, 'ay! Sweet'art! No need to git feisty yet! We 'aven't e'en made it to the the bedroom!" he chuckled, one oversized meaty paw coming down and grasping her wrist.

His hand was on hers for only a moment before she was out of her seat and snatching her hand from his. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it so she could yank it upwards, towards his shoulder blades. Her other hand shot up, grabbing his head and slamming it down on the bar, knocking her nearly empty glass over. The last drops of amber foam sluggishly leaking onto the bar next to his face. And all before he managed a garbled, "Oi! Wot do yer tink yer doin'?"

The pub was dead silent as she leaned over and hissed into his ear, "Touch me again, and I'll break every bone in your hands. _And if you're lucky_, I'll stop there."

She pushed his arm even farther up before dropping him and sitting back down. As he scrambled away clutching his nose with his good arm, she picked up her glass and using a stray napkin, wiped up a few drops of beer and blood.

Slowly conversations began to trickle back to life. Soon enough the pub was back to its drunken chatter; the only noticeable difference was the foot of space given to that strange girl at the bar.

She raised her hand signaling for another pint and sighing gratefully when the glass landed in front of her. A sip into her drink she heard someone drop into the barstool next to her.

"That was quite a show earlier," the newcomer—a woman, Irish by the sound of it—said.

"Still not interested."

"Not what I meant, but I'll take it as a compliment." Looking up from her glass, she was met with the sight of a woman leaning against the bar eyeing up the stranger with dark, appreciative eyes. Dark hair fell around pale skin, and a black dress hugged her figure. No place to hide a weapon in sight. "Jane Moriarty. Hi," she said smirking when she saw the returning gaze.

"Moran," she replied.

"Oh, I already know who you are, darling," Moriarty said distractedly taking a scotch from the bartender.

"Oh really?" Moran said, taking another sip of her beer.

"Of course, Colonel Sebille Moran." She took a sip of her scotch. "Or should I say ex-colonel?"

Moran froze and just watched as Moriarty smirked over her glass. "What do you want?" Moran barked.

"To hire you, of course. Considering that last display, I would have hired you in an instant, but after seeing your résumé, that display put you just over the top. Extraordinary résumé, by the way."

"And where'd you get a copy of that?" she asked, face blank, but she was gripping her glass so tightly her knuckles went white.

"A friend made a recommendation. Don't worry. They aren't the type to go to undesirables."

"How do I know I can trust _you_?"

Moriarty smiled. "You don't, darling. That's the fun part."

"You know could have just called me," she quipped, her fingers relaxing. No cop would be so cavalier while unarmed.

"Yes, but I wanted to see what I was dealing with, and make you an offer."

"What kind of offer?"

"Long term contract. Lower pay, but a steady income. Comes with some benefits," Moriarty said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"And if I want to quit?"

Moriarty's smile slipped into a quick, exaggerated grimace. "See, that's the problem. No take backs. That's why I have a preposition. I give you a paycheck. You work with me for a month. No other contracts, short term or otherwise. Then when a month's up you can walk away. No consequences. And if you choose to stay, we'll work something out."

Moran paused for a moment, contemplating the offer. She appraised her potential boss again. Moriarty smiled at her assessment, eyes glinting in the dim bar lights. Danger sparked in her eyes. And Moran couldn't help herself.

"I've got nothing in the works for now so," she paused and sighed, "Might as well. What's my first job, boss?"

Moriarty's smile stretched into a shark's grin. "Oh, this is where the fun begins."


	2. Bring a Baseball Bat

AN: Still not mine. This chapter's a bit shorter. I might have to up the rating in later chapters, but I don't know. I'm not good at rating stuff. Also you'll no doubt notice I don't have any specific locations because I'm still not sure where I want this located. Anywhoo! Continue reading.

* * *

Padding around the kitchen for something edible while the coffee brewed, she searched all the cupboards for something edible. All she found was a few half empty bottles of alcohol, some stray cups, a fork, and some leftover takeaway from a few days prior.

Heaving a sigh, she grabbed the flimsy takeaway container and the fork. She dropped them on her rickety table before grabbing a broken mug—no handle—and pouring some of the dark brown liquid into the mug. Grabbing yesterday's paper off the floor, she sat down to read while eating her breakfast cold.

When her phone rang, she scooted back and grabbed the cheap, black mobile from the counter behind her. She shoved another bite of cold curry into her mouth as she pressed talk, not even looking at the number.

"'lo? Moran speaking."

"Hello, sweetie."

Moran froze, swallowing her bite before leaning back in her chair. "Moriarty."

"Of course. Who'd you expect?"

Ignoring the question, Moran replied, "I expect you're the reason my bank account suddenly skyrocketed."

"It doesn't take much to skyrocket what you had."

"I told you I don't have anything in the works. Should I be concerned that you have access to my bank account?"

"You haven't really got much to lose, do you?"

Moran sighed. Moriarty was right. She didn't have much to lose, and what she did have, she didn't really keep in a bank. "What's my first job?"

"Oh, nothing," Moriarty replied flippantly, "Just wanted you to stop by so we can talk about a job I might need your help on."

"Where?" Moran listened closely to the address and committed it to memory. "Got it, boss. Be right there."

"Ooh," Moriarty purred, "Boss. I like that." And then the line went dead.

* * *

Moran shoved her half eaten breakfast in the fridge, fork and all, her other hand reaching across the small kitchen to dump her coffee down the sink, letting the mug fall with a clatter. Heading into her room, she grabbed some clothes off the floor, throwing on an old pair of jeans and her favorite blue tank top. She tried to tell herself she didn't choose the shirt because it brought out the blue in her eyes.

On her way out the door, she snagged the mobile and her black, leather jacket off the lamp. Thumping down the stairs, she shrugged into her jacket, careful of the knives hidden in the sleeves. Once on the street she flicked her wrist, hailing a cab. She slid into the car, parroting the address at the cabbie.

She was barely in the cab a minute before her phone buzzed.

_Change in plans. Meet me at the warehouse on the end of *****. –JM_

Moran barely finished repeating the address to the cabbie when her phone buzzed again.

_Bring a baseball bat. —JM_

She sighed and redirected the cabbie.


	3. Bit Cliche

Sorry for the lateness! My life has been pretty hectic. Anywhoo. Here it is: the new chapter! Still not mine, still not edited by anyone but myself. If there are any mistakes don't be afraid to let me know! Also you can see the outfit Moriarty wears in this one here: . #1 but of course Moriarty would have it hemmed a bit more than it shows.

* * *

"Really? A warehouse?" Moran announced as the heavy door squealed in protest behind her, "Bit cliché, don't you think?"

"Sweetie, I'm a criminal. We're all a little bit cliché. That's why I got you to spice things up."

Moran smirked as she walked down the dingy, echoing hallway. The nearly empty bag bounced against the back of her thighs as she walked. Turning the corner, the hallway opened up into a large storage room, now empty and falling into disrepair. An old desk and three men, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, huddled together in the middle of the room.

And then there was Moriarty. Perched on the edge of the desk, her legs crossed and swinging, she hardly resembled the woman Moran met while half-drunk in the pub. Moriarty traded in her slinky black dress for the more _appropriate_ office wear, the tight skirt edging up her thigh. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, a stray lock brushing against the shoulder of her navy blue blazer. The only thing that hadn't changed was the ridiculously high heels which were far from sensible work attire.

"I didn't know there was a dress code," Moran joked.

"This is my business, and I treat it as such." She cocked an eyebrow.

"That is _not _business attire. At least, not any I've seen."

Moriarty hopped off the desk. "Did you bring what I asked you to?"

"Course, boss."

"Yes. We are _definitely_ keeping the 'boss'," she purred, stalking towards Moran.

She unzipped the bag and handed the bat to her boss, who she realized for the first time was shorter than her, even in those ridiculous heels.

"Perfect." Moriarty smiled examining the bat.

"What do you want me to do?"

Moriarty's smile stretched into a grin as she swung the bat up to her shoulder as she strolled towards the men. Moran followed half a step behind.

"Meet the Wertheimer brothers," Moriarty paused and threw a little grimace over her shoulder, "Horrible name, I know." She sighed. "But what can you do? They dropped in on me right after I called you. See, we had a little tiff a few months ago. I thought they were coming to give me back the money they stole, but come to find out they just wanted to steal from me again." Moriarty started circling the brothers, while Moran waited, watching. "So some light sedatives, three cups of tea, and a cab ride later, and here we are. They're still a little groggy, but they're waking up," she trilled.

Moran folded her arms. "And?"

Moriarty froze on the other side of the brothers. "Well, we have to teach them a lesson, don't we?"

"Details."

"Use the bat. Minor breaks at most. No blood." At Moran's brief smirk she added gesturing to her outfit, "Westwood, obviously."

Moran just held out her hand for the bat, mind already zoning in on her work. Moriarty pouted, "Can I go first? Pretty please?"

Blinking, Moran nodded before the request registered, but before she could regret the decision, the bat was already mid-swing. With a dull thump, it smacked into one of the brother's torso, earning a deep groan.

And then Moriarty giggled. Her hair beginning to fall from her bun, and her eyes gleaming in the half-light of the warehouse. Her chest heaved as she pulled the bat up again, mouth open in mid-giggle.

Moran was helplessly hooked on her boss, and she was pretty sure she didn't mind.


End file.
